


Keeping Count

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Conversations, Friendship, Gen, Partnership, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10589934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon and Illya have a discussion about their retirement, their enemies and things in general before retiring for the evening while on assignment.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Origianlly posted for LaH Carabele's QUOTEME Challenge on Section VII, Live Journal

 

  
                                      
  
  
**The Quote: "You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life"**

**Made by: Winston Churchill**  
  
  
  
  
For Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin to say they had enemies, by any means, would have been an understatement. If one were to judge them by the number of those who fell into that class, these agents would have been considered royalty.

Kings, rulers and even despots had many enemies, but their foes paled in comparison to the sheer volume of adversaries these UNCLE agents dealt with.

This particular team of U.N.C.L.E, agents made many an enemy on a near daily basis around the globe. Some of them they dispatched, never to be bothered by them again, and some just kept coming back like annoying little insects.

Just as with insects, you'd slap them when they bite you, you think you've gotten them, but in the end, you've discovered you missed. The process would start all over again... the biting, the slapping, and again, it could still be a hit or a miss. Sometimes this never-ending cycle would get to one or both of these agents.

Currently, they were on assignment in Barcelona, and hot on the trail of yet another lunatic who was threatening the safety of the city and it's people. He called himself  _Venganza de Sangre_ , which oddly enough translated to 'vendetta.' What he had against Barcelona or Spain, they had no idea. They only knew he had to be stopped; he'd planted an explosive device somewhere in the city and unless an obscene amount of money was transferred to de Sangre's Swiss bank account before the deadline arrived, a good portion of Barcelona would cease to exist.

Napoleon and Illya were after his number two man,  _Hipolito Castillo_  and after much lost sleep; they finally cornered and captured him.

They'd been interrogating the prisoner for several hours without success, though both Solo and Kuryakin were masters of extracting information, yet this time they seemed to be hitting a brick wall.

At the moment, their focus was on finding the location of the bomb. They'd been warned about it, and when to expect it to detonate and time was running short. The deadline was closing in fast and the death of possibly thousands would be imminent.

Evacuation of the city was poorly organized and was leading to panic among the populace.

Kuryakin flashed a cold look at his partner, nodding for them to leave the interrogation room. It was time to give up and get away before the explosion happened...that was what they wanted the prisoner to think.

"Listen Castillo," Napoleon grabbed the prisoner by his shirt collar as a last ditch effort. "You need to think about what's going to happen in less than an hour. You're the one who's going to have the blood on your hands, not U.N.C.L.E."

_"¡Vete al diablo!_  Solo," the man snarled in reply.

There was a moment of silence in the gray panelled room, with the ticking of a wall clock making the only ominous sound. As the hands moved, time was truly running out...

"No, I think you are the one going to hell," Illya spoke calmly. He reached down to his ankle, drawing his backup pistol and flicked his wrist, snapping open the chamber and letting the rounds fall out; making metallic dings as each brass casing hit the stainless steel table top.

He picked up a single bullet. placing back in the cylinder and clicked it closed with a snap of his wrist.

"Are you familiar with a little game called Russian Roulette?

"What about it?" Castillo sneered.

"It is an interesting game of chance, would you not agree? A single round in the cylinder." Illya spun it, giving accent to his little talk. "And once it is spun like a roulette wheel, you have a one in six chance of hitting the loaded chamber." Illya shoved the gun barrel to Hipolito's head and pulled the trigger.

"Click"

Castillo started at the sound, and instantly he began to sweat.

"Hmm, now you have a one in five chance." The Russian flashed a feral smile.

"Illya what the hell you are doing?" Napoleon protested, grabbing his partner's arm.

"Leave me be!" Illya pulled away, placing the gun to Castillo's temple again, and pulling the trigger a second time.

Now the man began to shake. "You can't to this...UNCLE agents don't do this sort of thing. Stop him Solo," he pleaded.

"Hey when Mr. Kuryakin makes up his mind, he can't be stopped, as you just saw.'

"Click." Illya pulled the trigger a third time.

"Now you have a one in two chance," Illya growled. He pressed the end of the gun barrel one last time to Castillo's head, but hesitated, taking his time putting pressure on the trigger. "What does it matter if you die now, or when the bomb detonates. If you tell us where it is, then you and thousands of others live."

Illya slowly put pressure on the trigger...

Castillo screamed, "Stop! I'll talk, I'll tell you.  _Por favor,_  stop?"

Illya stepped away, letting Napoleon take over.

Hipolito Castillo let the information pour out of him like a fountain of knowledge, not only revealing the device was planted in the most populated part of the city, but the location of Venganza de Sangre's secret hide away in Lisbon, over twelve hundred kilometers away.

A demolition squad was sent to defuse the bomb hidden in a fuel depot and it ended up being the equivalent of eight hundred sticks of dynamite, putting it in more simplistic terms, the bomb had the destructive power of just over 300 liters of petrol. That on top of the millions of liters of petrol stored around it would have made for an explosion of immense proportions. A secondary team was dispatched to Lisbon, but found de Sangre had already fled. He must have known his plans had been thwarted and disappeared, abandoning everything.

They had no idea what he looked like, and that made a manhunt impossible. So the name of  _Venganza de Sangre_  would be added to their long list of foes who were still out there, waiting to strike again.

Illya and Napoleon oversaw the transfer of Hipolito Castillo to a permanent holding facility and as he was loaded into a secure van, Solo turned to his partner.

"Hey, you really wouldn't have pulled the trigger again would you tovarisch?"

"Of course I would." Illya flashed him a serious look. "You doubted that I meant business with him?"

"But you would have risked killing him in cold blood? I don't think Waverly would have been too happy with that."

"Napoleon, I said I would have pulled the trigger...I did not say I would have killed him."

Illya reached into his pocket, pulling out a single bullet and holding it out to the American.

"I emptied all the rounds from the cylinder, but instead of putting the single bullet in the chamber...I palmed it."

"Well, I'll be," Napoleon broke into a smile. "I never know with you chum."

"Precisely." Illya yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. "I for one am glad this assignment is over, as I am exhausted."

"Not far behind you, and next time I get to play bad cop," Napoleon tried stifling a yawn himself, but found it impossible. He'd had very little sleep during the affair, and Illya even less and was amazed the man was still standing.

The partners walked out into the darkened streets, as a light rain began to fall and now having finished the last of this tense assignment, finally called it a night. Their return flight to New York was scheduled for seven o'clock the next morning, and they resigned themselves to no evening's entertainment for either of them. For once they had managed to stay physically unscathed, but they were dog tired.

To Napoleon that meant no rendezvous with the dark-eyed Spanish temptress he'd met in the hotel bar, and for Illya, no late night reading.

The two differed dramatically about what constituted a divertissement, as they did on many things. Yes, their ways differed, but somehow they managed to make it all gel, and work together like clockwork, that's what made them a team and the best of the best.

  
                                                          

Raindrops were tapping against the window, clouding the image of an orange and blue neon sign, its light casting an eerie glow in the darkened hotel room. Napoleon was laying on the full-sized bed that, due to cost cutting by accounting, he had to share with his partner, who at the moment was sleeping beside him, curled up like a cat and snoring softly. It was three in the morning and the American couldn't sleep, and for some reason, he decided his Russian friend shouldn't be able to either.

"Illya," he said the name softly at first. "ILLYA?" He repeated loudly a second time.

"Whaaa?" Kuryakin sat, bolt upright with his gun in his hand, looking around for some imagined threat.

"Hey, I can't sleep."

"And this you woke me for?" Illya grumbled, rolling over and turning his back to his partner.

"Well you're awake now, so talk to me."

"Yes, thank you very much for waking me up as well as reminding me that I am now awake...for pity's sake Napoleon, you do recall I have had only three hours sleep in the last two days? Have you tried counting sheep?" Illya sighed as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders.

Napoleon should have known better, as there were two things that could potentially turn his mild-mannered partner into a snarling wolf, and they were coming between him and his food, and his sleep time. Though at the moment Napoleon decided he didn't really care...

"Yes I have tried,  _Mister I have all the answers,_ " Solo answered sarcastically.

Illya glared at him. "Try counting our enemies then, it will make for a nice long list, and be sure to add  _Vendetta_  to it."

Napoleon raised his eyebrows, finding that suggestion intriguing.

"That's an interesting thought. Let's see, so there's now there's  _Venganza de Sangre, Victor Martin, Gervaise Ravel and her brother Aristede, Alceste Streiga, Mother Fear, G. Emory Partridge and his lovely wife Edith, Angelique, Serina_..."

Another loud sigh issued forth from Kuryakin. "Napoleon?"

"Yes Illya?"

"Are you not supposed to just think of them in your head while counting? I suggest closing your eyes would help." His voice sounded muffled, as if his head were under a pillow.

"Oops, was I talking out loud?" He feigned ignorance, just to annoy the Russian.

"Fine Napoleon," Illya grumbled. He turned on the light, rolling over to face his friend."You have my full attention. What is the real reason you need to keep me awake this time of the morning?" He looked at his watch, stifling a moan.

Napoleon propped himself up against his pillow, satisfied now that he was getting Illya to listen to what was troubling him.

"The question dawned on me, that when all was said and done... what will you and I really have to show for all our efforts? U.N.C.L.E. won't exactly be paying us a big bonus if we reach retirement age, so what will we end up with, and I don't just mean financially. What was it all for? Do we just fade away to some desk job in Section I, or disappear completely into civilian life?"

Illya sat up, leaning his arms on his bent knees, not sure what was prompting this unusual concern. Napoleon being the eternal optimist was never one to worry about such things. Worrying was the purview of Illya Kuryakin...

"You know very well you will be taking Mr. Waverly's place as head of UNCLE Northwest, so I do not exactly call that fading away."

"I'm not completely sure I want to take Waverly's place,"Napoleon admitted. Though life without UNCLE would be rather boring wouldn't it?"

Illya hesitated for a moment."You mean life out of the field would be boring for you, do you not?"

Napoleon nodded solemnly. "What about you tovarisch?"

"My contract agreement between GRU and UNCLE would be up, and as I would no longer be a field agent; I would be required to return to the Soviet Union. That would probably not be a good idea as KGB looks upon me as at traitor for not supplying the Kremlin with any secrets, so my death would be be assured. They would probably make it look like some accident, to avoid culpability, as GRU knows of their position in regards to me. Given that, it would be in my best interest to seek sanctuary and apply for American citizenship, though that would still not be a hundred percent guarantee of protection against KGB...or any of our enemies for that matter. They all have long memories."

"I hadn't thought about that, "Napoleon said, "You think the KGB would really do that to you?"

"I have no doubt about it," Illya yawned.

"Okay, citizenship, then what would you do?"

"A transfer to Research and Development, would be the logical move; involving myself in some interesting work...and not under any doom and gloom pressure, either. I would hope to be able to make some significant contribution to the science world. No disappearing into civilian life either, unless an important research company offered me a well-paid position of course. I have been toying around with the idea of getting married and having a family someday as well."

"Wow, a wife and a family, citizenship and a job in the private sector? Be careful tovarisch, your capitalism is already showing..." Solo smiled. "I think you're finally becoming Americanized in your thinking."

"Napoleon I am giving up my precious sleep time to placate you...there is no need to insult me, and to address your other question, 'what will you and I really have to show for all our efforts? I think we will have a sense of satisfaction and pride that we stood for a just cause and helped to bring peace, at least, to some parts of the world. Is that not reward enough? After all, given our pay grade, we did not get into the spy business for the money. And if it was about money, then we should have gone rogue a long time ago." Illya snickered at that.

"We have been in a unique position, though at risk to our lives; we have been able to stand up for a principle... is that not something to show? Did not Churchill make that point when he spoke about having enemies being a good thing, it meant one had stood up for something at some point in one's life. Not many people will have the opportunity to dispatch the enemies of the world as we have, and I for one am proud that..."

Illya looked closely at his partner; his head snuggled comfortably on his pillow with a smile of satisfaction on the American's lips. He was finally sleeping, but Kuryakin hadn't noticed when that happened, apparently he was doing all the talking instead of his partner.

The Russian cocked an eyebrow, wondering if what he'd said was so boring as to have put Napoleon to sleep, or had it comforted him enough to let him relax and finally doze off. Illya reminded himself to ask his partner to clarify that in the morning.

In truth he was looking forward to getting back to New York, it was home now. The thought occurred to him that perhaps Napoleon was not so far off the mark after all; though being a stubborn Russian; he would never admit that to him.

Illya lay there with his eyes wide open, now unable to fall asleep himself, as he was over tired and  thoughts were running through his head. It was his turn for his mind to wander, but unlike his partner, he concentrated on counting their enemies one by one, knowing that he and Napoleon had stood up to them, and doing so, they would continue to stand up for what was right and good.

That thought sent him at last into a sound slumber, and in his dreams he and Napoleon swatted away of all their enemies...permanently.


End file.
